


A Fork in the Road

by SpaghettiCanActivist



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fatherly Zeb, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaghettiCanActivist/pseuds/SpaghettiCanActivist
Summary: Garazeb Orrelios had given up, but he's saved by a little blue headed boy who reminds him that there are still things worth fighting for. The path back to hope is a difficult one, but Zeb finds that fate is determined to lead him there. AU where Zeb and Ezra meet up before joining the crew of the Ghost.





	1. The One More Traveled

Garazeb Orrelios stood at a fork in the road. Figurative, of course. He was stumbling along, drunk after too many drinks and unable think straight, but not drunk enough to forget. His mind was bumbling through facts, things like reminding himself that all he had in his pocket were three creds that weren't worth bantha fodder and a little pouch filled with reminders of a now painful past. The fact that he smelled like alcohol and his once sleek fur reeked. He looked like a mangy animal. The fact that he was the only thing standing between the extinction of a species and its continued legacy.

Zeb leaned against a wall, pausing, his vision was blurring even more and he blamed his mind's carouse through facts. Unfortunately the blurring cleared up and was replaced with vomiting and his mind did not stop, for the facts had not been exhausted. There was still the fact that he was homeless, the fact of his absolute self-loathing, the fact that within his misery and anger the root was sorrow, and there was the fact that Garazeb Orrelios was unable to do anything about any of it.

The vomiting passed, and he leaned up, wiping at his mouth and staring out at the street. The white uniforms, the blasters hanging idly in their hands. Zeb's lips unconsciously curled into a snarl. The Empire, that was the cause of all of this, of his misery, of the condition of a galaxy where whole species of sentient beings could be demolished because it was more convenient for a power hungry government. Hate bubbled up in him, rage that was a strong cover for his grief and loneliness.

What did it matter anymore? Lasan was gone, the Lasats were gone, and for all it was worth, Zeb may as well have died with them.

Alcohol and grief impairing him, Zeb stumbled towards the soldiers.

"You know what, you kriffing bastards should go back to whatever laboratory they make you in," Zeb slurred, spitting on the ground near the soldiers.

They stood up, three in total, and assumed threatening poses.

"Do we have a problem here, citizen?" One asked.

"Yeah, you fuglies trashing up this street," Zeb's voice was intentionally confrontational, he could feel the tension rising.

He wanted to fight, wanted to do something to hurt the Empire, and he was very drunk.

"You want to get kriffed up, citizen," the other soldier said, emphasizing the last word, "because you keep talking like that-"

"And what? You'll kill my entire people? Already done that I'm afraid," Zeb snarked out.

Another trio of soldiers was coming down the street, probably to relieve the men currently there. Zeb felt a smile grow, he had no weapons, him against six troopers armed with blasters capable of killing. His drunk brain added up the rather slim odds and enjoyed the outcome, he could deal with a lethal ending to this all. The trooper had raised his gun. Freedom was one more sentence away.

"You watch-"

"I'm sorry!" The high voice of a child intervened.

Zeb blinked down at the blue haired boy that had suddenly placed himself between the soldier and Zeb.

"My uncle's got Tourette's syndrome," the boy spoke quickly, hands held up defensively.

The soldiers paused, surprised by the sudden and unexpected arrival.

"It's real serious, he just starts saying random things, he can't control it," the boy said earnestly.

The child looked no older than eight or nine, dressed in a ragged tunic and too long pants bunched at the ankle and wrapped with a linen cloth, a pair of poorly shod sandals on his feet. He was dirty and unkempt and there was bruising along his collarbone and arms. Zeb's mind, dull from the alcohol, was having a hard time processing this very surprising and very annoying deterrent to his suicidal plan.

"This is your uncle?" One soldier said incredulously.

They didn't seem to believe the boy, but the tension was dissipating to be replaced with incredulity and dry amusement.

"Well, twice removed," the boy said, before leaning in with a secretive whisper, "but to be honest I think he may be the missing link."

A soldier guffawed, another shook his head.

"Get him out of here before you cause trouble, alright kid."

The boy nodded emphatically, turning to Zeb and grabbing his hand. He tugged and Zeb didn't budge. The boy stomped on Zeb's foot, tugging again. Zeb managed to follow. When they'd gotten a street away, Zeb threw the boy's hand off and turned on him.

"Why'd you do that?" He slurred out, anger now redirected.

The boy looked a little nervous, but there was a glare of defiance in his eyes which shone brightly.

"Because you're as dumb as bantha fodder, you could've been killed!" The boy reprimanded him.

"So?" Zeb sneered.

"What do you mean 'so'? You wanna die?" The kid said in shock.

"What's it to you, kid?" Zeb's stomach was turning again and he just wanted to throw up and then go die peacefully without interference.

The boy's face went through a mix of emotions, from shock to sorrow and then finally a vulnerable sort of petulance.

"We can't all give up," he said, tears in his eyes that stood in contrast against his strong tone.

Zeb shook his head, cynicism making him bitter and cruel, "nothing left fighting for, kid, no reason to not give up."

The boy shook his head, said something, but Zeb was horking up whatever he'd drunk and his mind didn't much care about anything else. In fact, he was so out of it, he didn't notice the boy tugging him down the street, didn't notice how he lead him to an old, boarded up house and then how the boy pushed him onto a bed. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the roll.

Waking up was pain, his head felt like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to it, and everything was ringing. Sitting up, he blearily looked around. He was in some kind of crappy house, trashed and abandoned from the looks of it. A familiar blue headed kid was just then dropping in through a window, he had some fruit in his arms.

"You're up," the kid said.

Zeb groaned, rolling over.

"Karabast," Zeb muttered under his breath.

This kid was like an annoying little devil, or more of saving angel, and Zeb wasn't appreciating the huge roadblock that had suddenly thrown itself in his way.

"I brought you some fruit," the boy said.

A jogan landed on the bed, rolling against Zeb's arm. Zeb heard the boy settle somewhere and begin eating one of the fruits. It was quiet for a while aside from the wet crunch of jogan. After a while, Zeb heard the boy get up and leave. Zeb closed his eyes and went back to sleep, hoping that he'd be alone when he woke up.

He was not alone when he woke up, the boy was rummaging through his pack.

"You're awake," the boy said.

Zeb sat up, running a weary hand over his face. Standing up, Zeb didn't say anything to the boy, instead moving towards the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?" The boy cried.

"Away from here," Zeb said gruffly.

The boy bounded in his direction, following him out the door. The street in front of them was a small resident street, tucked away and now dirty and relatively empty. All the dwellings were unkempt.

Zeb had no idea where he was, and picking a random direction headed that way.

"Hey! Wait!" The boy called after him, running to catch up.

"You can't go this way," the boy said, slightly breathless.

Zeb stopped, turned around and glowered at the boy.

"What is your problem, kid?" Zeb growled at him.

The boy frowned, crossing his arms.

"What's your problem?" The boy retorted.

Zeb let out a frustrated growl.

"You should'na helped me," Zeb said.

"Why are you such a blockhead?" The boy asked, anger and confusion on his face.

"I'm serious, there's no point going around helping people, it's what idiots do."

The comment infuriated the boy.

"That's not true! My parents always helped everybody!"

"And where are they?!" Zeb roared back, angry that this boy was telling him about right and wrong.

Well, he was going to set him straight.

"Dead, aren't they?" Zeb sneered cruelly, ignoring the guilt which flashed through him at the kid's broken look.

"That," Zeb said, stabbing a finger into the boy's chest, "is what happens when you try an' 'do good'."

The tears in the kid's eyes were unmistakable, as was the anger.

"You're wrong," he said quietly.

Zeb started to turn away, done with arguing with a child.

He was shocked to see a group of soldiers approaching.

"What are you doing here!? This place is restricted!" One of the soldiers yelled.

Zeb let out a curse while the boy stiffened with fear.

"This way!" The boy said, running off to the side.

Zeb growled in annoyance, setting off after the boy. They ran through the streets, the Imperials close behind them, after several minutes, the boy took a sharp turn which lead them right into the face of more Imperials. They obviously weren't engaged in the chase, but that changed as the other Imperials rounded the corner shouting and pointing at the boy and Zeb.

The boy backpedalled, heading down a different street with Zeb behind him. They turned a corner and came to a dead end. Zeb saw ledges, impossible to others, which were passable for him. With guilt, he glanced at the boy.

"Sorry, kid," he said gruffly, jumping up and beginning his climb.

He didn't look back even as he heard the Imperials shouting and the boy's cry of alarm. He heard the blaster shots and felt one pass close by his head. In another second he cleared the wall and flung himself into the roof. Hurrying on his way, he didn't stop until he was far from danger. Stopping he felt guilt overcome him.

"He'll be fine," he muttered to himself, "they'll go easy on a kid."

 

 

The rest of the week, Zeb slunk about, this new guilt weighing heavy on him. He'd left the boy. He could've carried him, pulled the child on his back or even thrown him up onto the roof. The boy had risked his neck saving Zeb, had fed him and shown more kindness than Zeb had received in a long time. He hadn't even known the child's name, hadn't had the decency to ask.

Somehow, at the end of the week he wandered into a bar and sat down. Staring moodily into a drink, he pondered his position. The boy couldn't be helped, it would be impossible. Anyone taken by the Empire was forfeit. Closing his eyes he saw the image of trembling determination on the boy's face, vivid blue eyes wide with candor and belief. The boy was homeless, alone, and yet he'd taken the time to help Zeb.

Letting out a long sigh, Zeb opened his eyes and stared down into his drink.

"Bad day?" The bartender said, half curious and half bored.

"Something like that," Zeb mumbled out.

Throwing his last three credits on the counter to pay for the unfinished drink, Zeb got up and headed out.

Outside the stars were shining, their brightness not yet obscured by the light pollution from the city. Zeb's gaze wandered to the great dome above him, empty space with all the hollow promises of there being more. When did Zeb become like the Empire, cold and empty, unwilling to sacrifice, unwilling to save people? It had been his highest honor during his time in the Guard. He would protect people, save them, and he had loved doing it.

Zeb clenched his fist. Maybe he wasn't that person anymore, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least keep even with this kid.

"So you're saying you have no idea?" Zeb queried incredulously.

Sibar shook his head, the Iridonian Zabrak looking bored.

"I don't make a practice of keeping an eye out for Imperial prisoners," Sibar replied.

"C'mon, you have to know someone who knows something," Zeb said, leaning in and looking beseechingly at Sibar.

Sibar owned a parts shop near the space port, he didn't like the Empire as much as the next individual, and he did plenty of illegal business. However, he liked to lay low and avoid getting in trouble with the Imperials. Zeb had run jobs for him a few times and had even saved Sibar from an Imperial contraband seizure.

Sibar let out a sigh, a hand rubbing the back of his head.

"I don't know Orrelios," Sibar said hesitantly, a hand raised to rub at one of the small nubbed horns on his skull.

Sibar glanced around at the empty shop before looking to Zeb.

"I mean, I know this Bith, Meela Omk, she does business in and out of the Imperial jails, keeps an eye on who's coming in and who's coming out, but, I don't know, it's not the kind of business you wanna get wrapped up in."

Zeb grinned, glad to finally be getting something. It had been a whole week since his decision, two since the boy had been grabbed. He shifted in his position leaning on the counter, elbows and forearms planted on it and head ducked down in interest.

"Any idea where I could find this Meela Omk?" Zeb asked.

Sibar still looked uncomfortable and shrugged, turning his attention to a machine part on the counter that he'd been cleaning up when Zeb had first walked in.

"I know she spends time at Alibbi, or at least keeps workers in there most of the time," Sibar said, looking up at Zeb, he appeared worried, "she's nasty for a Bith, Orrelios."

Zeb stood up from where he was leaned against the counter, he waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't worry about me, Sibar, you know I take care of myself," Zeb replied.

Sibar looked unconvinced.

"You get fragged and I'm left without a runner who can actually pilot worth a damn and carry the merchandise."

Zeb let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head.

"Thanks Sibar, I owe ya one," he tossed over his shoulder as he left the shop.

Sibar just shook his head.

 

 

Ezra was curled into a defensive ball, shaking and shivering on the floor of the Imperial jail cell. Everything hurt, bruises covering him. He hadn't kept his mouth shut, something he'd never been able to do and he'd paid dearly for it. Ezra had lost track of the time, the days melting together in a mass of pain and fear. The soldiers harassed him, beat him up, hadn't really fed him, and he knew it was all for sport on their part.

The door slid open and a faceless Imperial soldier in white blaster armor stood there. A couple soldiers stood behind him, one chuckling under his breath as if some unspoken joke had been told.

"Ah, this is gonna be kriffed up," one of them said, eagerness in his tone.

Ezra scrambled back, throwing himself against the wall as the soldiers advanced. It did not help, they cruelly grabbed him, yanking him up and pulling him out even as he fought to escape. One of the soldiers smacked him harshly, hissing out a cuss word because he'd nearly lost his hold on Ezra. The blow made Ezra's head spin and he fell limp.

They took him outside, a small jail on the outskirts of the city to hold mainly temporary stays for trivial crimes such as libel against the Empire. It was a square building with a courtyard at the center, three sides of it being used for cells and the last as quarters for the six soldiers stationed there.

The courtyard was generally empty, dry hard ground that was open to the entire ferocity of Lothal's sun. There were posts for docking small transport vehicles, posts currently empty, and a couple empty crates scattered about that were used for sitting on or other mundane things. In this instance, the crates had been pushed together to form a small enclosed circle.

A soldier was standing inside the circle, a small mangy dog that was furiously trying to injure the arms holding it. The men dragging Ezra along took him to the circle of crates and threw him in. Shakily pushing himself to his hands and knees, Ezra stared in fear at the men. The soldier holding the dog set the dog down before bounding out of the circle, the dog snapping after him but stopping as it discovered it was penned in.

Ezra started to back up, smacking into a crate and then trying to use it to pull himself to his feet. The dog didn't look very nice and he didn't want to be stuck in the same place as it. His grip was dislodged by an Imperial and he was sent spinning back to land hard on the ground.

The dog seemed to notice him and came yowling at him, teeth bared. Ezra jumped up and tried to escape again only to be forced back a second time. The dog lunged, biting into his forearm. Ezra screamed in pain, lashing out. His hit made the dog relax its jaw and it fell back, barking madly. Ezra cradled his arm close, the puncture wounds weeping with blood already.

The men were jeering, prodding Ezra back every time he tried to move away. The dog sprang again and Ezra kicked at it, eliciting a small yelp of pain from the creature. It cowered then, obviously now afraid. The men let out sounds of disappointment and protest, but neither Ezra or the dog were listening.

After a lot of shouting on the men's part, one of them came forward, roughly seizing Ezra and dragging him to a post. They tied him there, a few cruel hits thrown out to express their disappointment in the fight. Ezra meanwhile clenched his eyes shut, trying to keep from crying even as the hot sun poured down and made his already dry mouth and throat ache more.

 

Alibbi was a cantina located towards the center of the industrial part of Capital City, it was dirty and known for being the center of the illegal red light district, Imperials were handsomely paid to keep it off the radar and because of that it flourished. Zeb didn't often go to places like it, the drink often not worth the disgust. If this was where Meela Omk was though, then he would just have to put up with it.

Ducking through the low doorway of the cantina, Zeb blinked his eyes to adjust to the smoke and darkness of the room. His nose immediately flared in discomfort at the overwhelming amount of unpleasant smells and his sensitive ears flicked with the pang of the noise. A trio of dirty humans were eking out live music that was quiet and slow, a sleazy quality to it which enhanced the atmosphere. Dolls were sprawled about at booths or on furniture, either with a possible customer or looking out lazily on the room. They were mainly Twi'lek, but there were also a few humans and one pink skinned Devaronian whose vestigial bumps had been painted a horrid bright green.

The clients looked no better, mainly off planet ship goers who were looking for a break or those who made up the working criminal class. He didn't see any Bith though. Walking in further, Zeb got a few looks but it had more to do with his intimidating physique than anything else, and the eyes left quickly.

Stepping up to the bar, Zeb looked to the barkeeper.

"Whassit?" The barkeeper said, indifferent as their eyes flashed over Zeb.

"I'm looking for someone," Zeb said.

The barkeeper raised a brow.

"Meela Omk, don't suppose she's around?"

The barkeeper shook his head.

"No, but you go to Jik," the barkeeper said, gesturing to an Ithorian.

Zeb said a short thanks and turned to the Ithorian.

"I'm looking for Meela Omk," he said, taking a seat at the booth the Ithorian was sitting at. The doll who was draped over the Ithorian looked in irritation at Zeb.

The Ithorian however sat up, giving Zeb part of his attention.

"Who's asking?" He asked.

"I heard she can get information I'm looking for," Zeb replied.

The Ithorian waved a hand at the doll who glowered at Zeb as she stalked away for having lost her a purchase.

"Omk, she has information, what you offer?"

"Look, Jik, let me talk to Omk, and she can see exactly what I have to offer," Zeb replied, annoyed by this whole cloak and dagger process.

The Ithorian, intimidated by Zeb, shrunk back but was still hesitating.

"You come back tomorrow, Omk will be here, you can talk to her yourself," the Ithorian replied, a hand being held up.

"Fine, tell her I'll be here," Zeb said, standing and leaving without letting the Ithorian reply.

He was relieved to step out of the cantina. Tomorrow he'd meet with Meela Omk.


	2. All the Difference it Made

Stepping back into Alibbi the next day, Zeb found the place just as welcoming. This time it was a little busier and the noise level was higher. He scanned the room and this time he spotted a Bith. He headed over, assuming that this was Meela Omk. She was a strange looking Bith, the large cranial dome was layered with creviced wrinkles, skin appearing leathery and tough rather than the smooth roundness that demarcated a Bith. Her large, shiny black eyes did not reflect the usual kindness and gentility of most Bith, they were sharp and piercing.

"Meela Omk," Zeb asked, standing by the round corner booth the woman was seated in.

She was alone, but she had all the accouterments which pointed to her having recently had company at the table.

"Lasat," she replied, a spark of curiosity in her gaze as she eyed him.

"It's Orrelios," Zeb shot back, disliking the form of address.

"Of course, Orrelios," she trilled the 'r's with an amused smile on her lips, "Sit down, please."

Zeb took a seat, already feeling uncomfortable with whoever this Bith was.

"I have an understanding that you were seeking my services," she said, reaching out with graceful hands for the tea set, one which clashed with the surroundings, that was on the table.

She poured a cup for herself and then one for Zeb.

"Yeah, I'm looking for a boy," Zeb stated, not taking the cup of tea she placed in front of him.

"I'm not a slaver," Omk said with an amused laugh, a touch of scorn in it which made it seem as if she were rebuking a child, "But I do have a few dolls who may appeal to your taste."

Zeb was too horrified to reply at first.

"No, that's not," Zeb spluttered, aghast at the implications, "I mean as in I lost a kid I was looking out for, the Imperials snatched him."

Omk's expression changed, and a more business like look fell over it.

"Ah, well, an honorable babysitter, I may be able to help," she said, looking away from Zeb to sip her tea.

Zeb bristled at her comment, clenching his jaw but keeping his cool.

"But first, you tell me what you have to offer."

Zeb hesitated. He really didn't have anything, not materially nor information wise. He had two good hands though, and all his knowledge of fighting and piloting to go with it.

"I do good work," Zeb started, intending to explain more.

"Ah, no, no, what is 'good work' to me? That means nothing," she interrupted, waving a hand at him.

"You know my kind, we're more skilled than ten humans put together, and I happen to have been a soldier, I can fight and I can fly," Zeb pressed his case.

Omk was quiet a few moments.

"Yes, yes, Lasats, that's true, but still," she hesitated, eyeing Zeb probingly.

Zeb watched in suspense as she took her time coming to a decision.

"Alright, we will try this," she finally said, "But, we do so on my terms. You are lucky that I am in a spot of difficulty. I have a shipment that I need picked up, my people seem incapable of doing so and anyone I wish to send cowers at it. You will do this for me, I will find this boy."

Zeb was surprised but relieved to hear her answer.

"Tomorrow you will go to the spaceport, Khuja will meet you there, she will know you. Today I hear about your boy and then I will find him for you."

Zeb gave a nod.

"Okay," he replied, "But how do I know you'll find the kid if I do this for you?"

"You don't," she said with a broad smile, "Now, tell me of the boy, what he looks like, why he is with the Imperials."

Zeb hesitated. He wasn't sure if Omk could be trusted, Sibar definitely didn't like her.

"Blue haired, maybe eight or nine, he's got blue eyes as well, the hair is longish, we were trespassing when they nabbed him."

"Does he have a name?" She asked.

Zeb once again felt guilt course through him. He shook his head and Omk tilted her head in curiosity.

"Well, you meet Khuja, I find the boy," she said, dismissing him with a little wave of her hand.

Zeb got up, exiting the cantina.

 

 

Khuja was an angry looking Barabel. She spat as soon as she saw him, cussing in her own language. Zeb spat back, standing taller and swelling his chest. Khuja seemed pleased by the response. If Zeb remembered right from his past experience with a Barabel mercenary, power was respected and things such as sympathy considered insulting.

"Omk sends me drivel, you drivel too," her basic was terrible and Zeb had an idea that Khuja wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Barabels were fearsome fighters and Zeb could respect that, if of course Khuja lived up to the expectation.

Turning from Zeb she stalked toward a small freighter that was docked, her long red ochre tail swishing heavily behind her. Zeb followed.

She slammed against the door panel, hissing in annoyance as her clawed fingers struggled with the locking mechanism. The door finally extended down, forming a ramp. Zeb followed Khuja in and then through a doorway to a small and cramped cockpit.

Khuja let out another hiss, gesturing with frustration at the controls.

"Fly, for Omk, the one does not fly, so fly," Khuja spat out, eyeing him aggressively.

Zeb's brow raised but he said nothing. Sitting down, he studied the controls. They were straight forward, a little dated but it wasn't like he had ever steered anything new. Zhuja's clenched fist was thrust forward, extended by Zeb's shoulder. As Zeb looked over she opened her clawed hand to reveal a holo communication chip.

"Work," Zhuja said.

Zeb gave a nod.

"Right," he growled.

He wasn't exactly excited by this process, hating the whole 'beating around the bush', Meela Omk seemed to thrive on it though. He was doing this for something more though. The little blue haired boy was constantly in his mind, a figure that he could save unlike all those he had not been able to save before. Zeb would not fail this time.

Opening the holo message, Zeb read it. It was a mission on another planet, it was a decent amount of parsecs away, he'd be gone a week at the least. He didn't know too much about Mygeeto other than it was under Imperial rule and had a harsh landscape. The message didn't specify exactly what they were picking up other than that the local Lurmen had it and we're unable to get it to them. The instructions as to where it was located exactly on Mygeeto were highly specific.

"We're gonna be out in space a while," Zeb said for Khuja's benefit.

Khuja lout a grunt, turning to leave. Zeb shook his head, muttering under his breath about ill tempered Barabels. Starting the freighter up, he quickly got it out of port and into open space. Once out among the stars, he punched in the hyperspace coordinates and sat back. They were going to be a while, about four days there. Thankfully, Omk had supplied them with more than enough fuel for a trip there and back.

Letting his eyes close, Zeb let out a sigh and wondered how the boy was doing.

 

 

Ezra had been left at the post for over a day before one of the soldiers had dragged him back to the room. The chill of the cold floor was inviting at first, helping to soothe the horrible sunburn he'd attained out in the sun. The chill however spread and he began to shiver from it, a terrible feeling of heat on his skin and pained cold under it. He hadn't eaten in a day, and pain radiated from his stomach.

Having gently probed his rib cage earlier, Ezra had felt things amiss and he was sure that he had broken a bone.

A terrible sense of loneliness welled up in him. No one would save him, no one. His parents were gone, and nobody cared about an orphaned street rat. Ezra held back his tears and entered a delirious sleep.

 

 

During the four day trip, Zeb didn't see much of Khuja, she kept to herself and shouted or hissed at him whenever she did. Zeb didn't mind the fact and kept to himself as well. The nights were long sleepless things and he grew antsy from the lack of action.

Finally though, they arrived at Mygeeto. Rain was beating down, making Zeb's visual difficult. He managed to follow the coordinates and land on an old factory dock. Powering down the freighter, he exited the cockpit and saw that Khuja was preparing her blaster. Zeb checked his own weapon, the bo-rifle in good condition. Unfortunately the rain wouldn't be doing him any favors.

"Bloody weather," he muttered, staring out the transport doors and into the deluge that awaited them.

Khuja didn't look particularly happy about it either, glaring furiously at Zeb as if he controlled the weather and had made it rain to spite her. Zeb shook his head, pulling out the GPS synchronizer which was zeroed in on the shipment. Flicking it on Zeb watched the old piece of equipment warble before fading out. Zeb shook it, then smacked it against the palm of his hand. He was relieved to hear the warble come back on and become steady.

"We go?" Khuja snapped impatiently, staring expectantly at Zeb and the device in his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, we go," Zeb replied in annoyance, raising his rain poncho's hood and hoping it would keep at least some of his fur dry.

They walked along the factory platforms, headed into the heart of the facility. The pounding of the rain drowned out everything else, and Zeb, barely able to see through the down pour, squinted his eyes to see the door entrance. It was old, the door half wrenched away from its track. Long claw marks were etched along it and Zeb could see where part of the metal had been bent. A cold sense of foreboding welled up in him. Even Khuja was staring at the marks, a solemn attention being paid which Zeb had yet to see on the unintelligent Barabel.

"Alright," Zeb said with a fortifying huff, edging his way through the half closed entry.

Inside the sound of the rain was muted, becoming a droning sound in the backdrop. It was replaced with an eerie silence which caused Zeb's teeth to grind. Khuja was flexing her fingers along her blaster, gaze keenly eyeing the dark passage before them. There wasn't anything to do but keep going. Minutes passed as they moved through the old factory, a few busted items and flotsam scattered through the halls.

Glancing down at the GPS synchronizer, Zeb was relieved to see that they were almost to the shipment. They entered a large room in the factory, old equipment rising around them like broken figures, abstract pieces of a nightmarish landscape. Zeb spotted a collection of crates near the front of the room, obviously having been readied for shipment. They were strange though, covered in dust and not looking new. Zeb looked down at the GPS synchronizer, wondering if it was still working.

Zeb shrugged, approaching the crates and looking them over. There were two, stacked on top of each other. Zeb knelt, searching for the grav. button. Finding it, he flicked it on and the crates immediately rose into a hover. Zeb grinned, maybe this would be easier than he thought.

Khuja let out a long low hiss. Zeb looked over at her to see her crouched in a defensive position, her blaster out.

Zeb tensed, standing up and drawing his bo-rifle off his back.

"What is it?" He asked.

Khuja gave no response.

A low growl issued off to Zeb's left and his eyes followed the noise. A figure emerged, gleaming yellow eyes hanging in the air like a phantom. Zeb waited, the air tense. They needed to leave, now. Slamming his body into the crates, Zeb sent them flying back into the corridor, running with them. A large figure pounced, movements feline but appearing similar to a dog. A kriffing anooba. Zeb cussed, barely escaping its claws. Khuja shot the creature in the head sending it tumbling back with a yelp of pain. The hit didn't last long though and it was struggling to its feet seconds later.

They were flying down the hallway, the crate in front of Zeb and Khuja a meter behind him. Breath coming harsh and fast, Zeb could hear the sound of an anooba calling. They hunted in packs, eight to twelve usually, Zeb cussed again. They weren't bound to outrun a pack of anooba. Glancing over his shoulder, he regretted his action immediately, seeing that five anooba were closing in. Khuja was attempting to shoot behind them, unfortunately it was affecting her pace and she kept having to sprint to catch back up the meter she lost each time. She managed to strike two of the creatures.

They were nearly out, and Zeb felt a sense of hope bubble in him, they might just get out of this. Nearly to the half open door, Zeb twitched his ears, another distant sound catching his attention. It caused him to look to the side, an intersecting hallway they were passing coming into view along with another group of anooba. He barely managed to duck, the crates continuing on their journey to crash through the half open doorway they'd entered through. Khuja, not blessed with the preternatural hearing of a Lasat did not duck.

Zeb twisted from his kneeling position, bo-rifle at the ready, to assist Khuja. She was unmoving on the ground, the three new anooba already tearing her apart. He flinched at one which jerked back, tearing her limb from the socket. He didn't have time to think about it though. Throwing himself to his feet he sprinted for the doorway. The crates were just outside and Zeb slammed into them again, pushing them towards the ship. The anooba had taken a pause to investigate the first kill, and Zeb was able to appreciate Khuja's death. But he didn't doubt that they would soon make up their lost pace and go after him.

For a heart stopping minute all Zeb could feel was the rain pounding down on him, his heart thumping in his chest. He saw the small freighter he'd arrived in, he came to a sudden halt, fingers reaching for the keypad which would let him open the cargo door. He could hear the call of the anooba. Glancing behind him, he saw the pack approaching. The door let out a soft beep and began opening. Zeb grit his teeth, begging the door to open faster. The anooba were gaining ground and he could see their figures growing larger. When the door was open just enough, Zeb shoved the crates in and jumped in, dashing to the indoor key pad. Slamming his fist against the door button, he sank to the ground in relief as the doors shut.

A second later he heard the thud of bodies against the door and the angry baying of the anooba.

"Karabast," Zeb said, hands trembling from the adrenaline.

Khuja's mutilated corpse came to mind and he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. No wonder Omk couldn't get anybody to pick up the shipment.

 

 

The four day trip back was long and unpleasant. Zeb was left to himself and his thoughts. Maybe he hadn't liked Khuja, or known her very well, but she'd died and he'd lived. His mind also wandered to the little boy who had also been sacrificed for Zeb's well being. It seemed he took and took, letting the many lives dependent on him go to waste. He wondered if the Imperials had been kind, if maybe for once the boy had been fed. Or, if they had thrown him in a cell and left him there to rot like they'd done to so many others. He couldn't imagine what other prisoners, some hardened criminals, would do to a little boy.

Landing back on Lothal was a relief. He'd called Omk after getting back into space, and the kriffing Bith had actually sounded surprised to hear that he'd lived. She'd known and she hadn't warned him. She wasn't the first criminal he'd met though, so all that mattered was that she had the information he needed.

It was afternoon by the time he landed and docked the little freighter. Omk was waiting for him right outside, a small entourage surrounding her. The group of rather shady looking men grabbed the crates and Omk walked over to Zeb.

"You succeeded, it seems you lived up to your words," she sounded pleased.

Zeb was not amused.

"It might'a been nice to mention the anooba," he said, unhappy about how everything had turned out.

"Yes, yes, but I had a feeling you would be a little more sensible than our dear Khuja. It is a true shame about her," Omk didn't seem too torn up.

Zeb grit his teeth but didn't say anything despite wanting to snap the old Bith's neck. She'd known and she didn't care.

"Now, I have gained the knowledge you were seeking, the little boy is being kept in the southern most outpost in the city, he is the only prisoner being kept there. I'm afraid I have not heard good things about how he is kept though," Omk explained.

Zeb felt his heart drop at the last sentence. Omk seemed for the first time to express some sympathy. Pressing an envelop into Zeb's hand she patted him on the cheek in a strange maternal way.

"What's this?" Zeb said, confused.

He opened it to see a large quantity of credits inside.

"I like you, Mr. Orrelios," Omk said, eyes twinkling, "And maybe you will like me back."

The entourage, minus a few men, came back and one flourished an umbrella to keep the Bith from the sun.

"If you need work, look no further than the Alibbi," Omk said before moving slowly back into the market street.

Zeb watched her go, ignoring her men who took hold of the freighter.

 

 

Zeb knew exactly where the outpost Omk had mentioned was. A bit out of the way and not exactly where he would think they'd keep a prisoner. He headed in that direction as soon as Omk was gone and he figured out where he would be going.

He reached it easily enough, a rectangular building with an archway which lead into a courtyard. A bit local and a bit old for an Imperial post, but Zeb had no doubt that it was reserved for soldiers who did something displeasing or were just not good enough to get better orders.

Slinking around the building, he peered through what windows there were, a few were curtained, most likely the quarters for the soldiers, but some were not. These ones were all on one wall, each barred with sets of archaic metal bars. Zeb peered through the first three and saw nothing, at the fourth he spotted a small body in the corner of the empty room. Staring, he realized it was the boy. There were rust red stains on some of the dirt floor and the boy was curled as far into a ball as he could.

"Kid," Zeb hissed.

There was no response. Zeb let out a soft 'karabast' before contemplating the metal bars. They might be something he could pull out, with an experimental hand he tugged at one. It didn't give, so Zeb leaned back before slamming into it with his forearm. He felt the surrounding material give and a grin lit up his face. With a few more well aimed hits, the bar did give out and Zeb set to work on the second and the third. He got out five of them before there was enough room for him to wiggle through.

Landing on the floor of the cell, he softly approached the small body. He could smell old blood, sweat, the stench of someone who had not bathed in a while, and the reek of bodily fluids. Worry sprang up, and he wondered what the Imperials had done.

"Kid," Zeb said softly.

The boy's head turned and luminous blue eyes stared up at him in fear. A tiny squeak of terror issued from the boy before he clenched his eyes shut and tried to curl further into himself. Zeb felt sick, the boy's face had been heavily bruised, a nasty gash cutting across his chin. Kneeling down he carefully set his hand on the boy's shoulder, his palm engulfing the tiny shoulder.

The boy flinched and tried to curl into himself even more. Zeb heard the sound of movement from somewhere else in the jail. He cursed, as much as this situation deserved a careful slow approach, he knew that they needed to get out now.

"I'm not gonna hurt ya," Zeb tried to reassure, hands slipping under the boy and drawing him up.

More damage was revealed and Zeb felt horror pulse through him. One of the boy's arms was broken, he was much skinnier than Zeb remembered and it seemed as if he'd been beaten severely. The boy let out a choked cry of pain and fear.

"Shhh, shhh," Zeb said, trying to be soothing, he didn't need the Imperials coming over to investigate.

He drew the boy to his chest, carefully cradling him. A sound of a door opening and footsteps nearing had Zeb casting a cautious look to the door.

He peered down at his precious cargo.

"How about we get out of here?" He said softly, heading to the window and slipping out.

He took a moment to readjust the boy in his arms before heading off.


End file.
